Page 156 of One Night Only
“You always tell me I talk too much when we go camping.”
“And this time I didn’t have to tell you that once,” he points out.
“Only you would complain about not having anything to complain about.” I run my finger down the torn leather of the seat, finding the spots where the stuffing pokes through. I might as well tell him. “I met someone.”
Dad eats another chip. “That so?”
“Over the summer but… I think I might have ruined it.”
“Ruin is a very serious word,” he murmurs. “Do you want to talk about it?”
No. Yes. “I think you already know the ending.”
He shrugs. “We’re going to be here for a while. It’s either that or I put onMoby Dickagain. I know where you hid the cassette tapes.”
I roll my eyes, but Dad just waits. “I found out he was married,” I say finally. “He’s not anymore. They’re separated but…”
“He didn’t tell you about her.”
I shake my head. “Even though he knew about Mom.” I pause. “He said he was going to.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“But it still hurts,” Dad surmises.
I nod, focused on the stuffing. He sighs. “That’s a shame.”
“We talked about it. He explained everything. But it still didn’t feel right.”
“Why not?”
“She’s very pretty.”
“So are you,” he says automatically.
“It’s more complicated than that.” I run briefly through what happened when Fiona and I met. “Do you know who I became when she showed up?” I ask at the end. “I was the bad guy. She was the beautiful, kind, clumsy heroine and I was the woman on the side.”
Dad frowns. “I don’t like you talking about yourself like that.”
“But it’s true,” I insist. “I was the other woman. She was nervous around me. Shepanickedaround me. And I don’t know what he told her, but he must have made it sound like he cared about me a lot more than he does.”
“And why would he have done that?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “To make her jealous?”
Dad’s silent for a long time. Besides making him tell me how his retirement party went, this is the most we’ve talked about all weekend and I’m just beginning to wish I had never brought it up when he speaks next.
“I sometimes wonder if I should have shielded you more after what happened with your mother,” he says. “And other times, if I should have been more honest with you about how hard it was.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t even breathe. We never talk about mom.Henever talks about mom.
“I loved your mother very much,” he continues. “A part of me still does. And when she left it broke my heart.”
“I remember,” I say quietly.
“But do you understand?” he asks. “You were so young at the time and ever since… I don’t blame your mother for what happened, Sarah. Not anymore. She was unhappy. I knew she was, but I pretended not to see it. Pretended it wasn’t there, just like she did for a long, long time. She had a job and a kid and—”
